


Going M.A.D.

by redyule



Series: Folie a Deux [1]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Suicidal Thoughts, me actually trying to write bright right for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redyule/pseuds/redyule
Summary: SCP-963 is on Dr. Clef's body. Dr. Clef is still alive, and well- so is Dr. Bright, in the same body. After a few weeks of this, the patience of both parties begins to run a bit thin. They try to eat a sandwich.





	Going M.A.D.

_I hate you so much. Have I said that before? Thought I might reiterate._  
**Woah, slow down there, boyo.**

Clef made a messy cut to the sandwich with a butterknife. It left the food crushed and sad- Bright bit his proverbial tongue so as not to comment on how it represented the two of them. Clef heard the thoughts anyway.  
It had been close to a week that Clef had taken hold of Bright’s amulet, a week of Bright occupying a space in Clef’s brain, co-piloting the body. Bright had not expected Clef to live, Clef the same to Bright. Bright was soon to find his consciousness shared with another’s- a presence which felt looming, strong, a force in the brain which left Bright unable to make out his own thoughts, smelling copper in the air and leaving his hands clammy. 

**You keep repeatin’ yourself like it means something, Jack. I know you’re not stupid. Be a big boy and deal with it.**  
Bright seemed to go quiet. Clef could feel his barely-stifled anger.

Clef, now, sat in his kitchen, calm as he could be- hell, exhausted, even. Bright had been aggressive, and as common as Clef knew it was, it was never his job to handle. Now, if Clef were to live, he had to live with this, unsure what would happen if the amulet was taken off, and unwilling to let himself die at the hands of Jack Bright.

**You act like a kid, you know?**

The headspace was silent. 

**********What was that with the bread knife- the fifth time in, what, two days you’ve tried to kill us? Yeah, I lost track, buddy.  
** You're like one of those boys who got dad’s old gun for the first time. "I have a gun, I have a gun," it’s all you hear. Maybe they’ll shoot some squirrels, be real proud of it, use it to bully their classmates- y’know, we get it at this point. It’s been- hell, I don't even remember how long you've been here.  
You got daddy issues, Jack. Nobody’s surprised. Get over yourself. 

The room around Clef was just as quiet as his head. He considered turning on the TV. Some of the bread had gotten a bit soggy from a nearly-spilled drink. 

******You’re sulking, too. Just like that asshole kid. You think I’m happy with this either?**  
_...Alto, we're friends, right?_  
Bright's voice rang through the mind of Clef, his frustration barely veiled. 

Jesus fucking christ. 

******Best friends, Jack.**  
_Yeah, don’t lie to me._ ** **

_How about, Alto, you just take the amulet off, god damn- or break it, or something. I really don’t care. You know I don’t want to be here, so stop keeping me here, and maybe I’ll die! It’s that easy._

Clef took a sip of a ginger ale.

**You know you aren’t ready to die, pal. Don’t lie to me, either.**


End file.
